


to go with grace

by sapphictomaz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamy Blake/John Murphy (implied), Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Gen, Sanctum (The 100)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25544299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphictomaz/pseuds/sapphictomaz
Summary: Sheidheda's made his move. Murphy has no choice but to counter with his own.Canon spoilers up until 7x09.
Relationships: John Murphy & Sheidheda
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	to go with grace

**Author's Note:**

> this fic takes place directly after 7x09, so if you haven't caught up/don't want spoilers, i would advise watching first! :)
> 
> the title is taken from "my tears ricochet" by taylor swift, whose new album i listened to exclusively while writing this.

The instant the Wonkru guard next to him drops into a kneel, Murphy knows that Sanctum is well and truly done for. 

_ “My fight is just beginning,”  _ Sheidheda growls in Trigedasleng, the candlestick he’d used to slaughter all of the true believers crashing to the ground. All pretenses have been dropped. He’s no longer pretending to be Russell - Murphy and Emori are no longer pretending to be Primes. Theoretically, they’re all on a level playing field, but the bodies littered around the room tell a different story. 

The guard on Murphy’s other side drops to his knees as well, whispering a quiet “Heda,” between his lips as he does so. Emori’s pulling on his shoulder behind him, to convince him to leave and run away with her into the night, letting Sanctum fall to whoever claims it first. Murphy doesn’t move. She’s incessant in her silent pleas, but she does not leave him alone. 

“Your fight,” Murphy says, “is a lonely one.”

Emori tenses, her hand falling from his shoulder as she steps even further back. On either side of him, the Wonkru guards quiver slightly, and though he can’t tell if she’s returned, he knows Indra would curse him for daring to speak up like that. Murphy’s weaponless and powerless, standing in front of the most cruel and terrifying dictator the Grounders had ever known. He’s a fool, he knows, for staying. 

Yet - Sheidheda seems amused. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, an image made infinitely more horrible by the blood stains on his skin. “Well,” he says, slowly, “I suspect you would know all about that, don’t you?”

Murphy’s eyes move to the candlestick on the ground, the end coated with the blood of the faithful, and then he moves his gaze back to match Sheidheda’s challenge. “I know that fights like that are impossible to win.”

“Impossible?” Sheidheda repeats, raising his arms and gesturing to the graveyard he’s created. “I seem to be doing just fine.”

“You killed a room full of defenseless worshippers,” Murphy counters, and he steps forwards towards the dark commander. He isn’t sure where this bravado is coming from as he descends the small staircase, but he’s too far deep to stop now. “Who’s going to fight with you? Who’s going to follow you?”

He’s misstepped, he realizes, as soon as he sees Sheidheda’s grin grow even larger. “Did you see how quickly they kneeled?” he asks, referring to the two Wonkru guards who are still in the doorway, their heads bowed. When Murphy looks back at them, Emori’s nowhere to be seen, and neither is Indra. She’s always been smarter than him. 

“They’re afraid you’ll kill them.”

“And I very well might,” Sheidheda muses. He leans down, picking up the discarded candlestick from the floor. Gently, he tosses it up and catches it again as it falls, though it should weigh far more than he’s making it look like it does. “But subjects respect strength. A  _ true _ king, well - he should instill fear in those he leads, should he not?”

Murphy takes another hesitant step forward, carefully watching the candlestick. They’re not far apart, now. Sheidheda could kill him in seconds, and there’d be absolutely nothing that he could do to stop him or save his own life. Somewhere along the line, his self-preservation skills failed him, and he wonders when exactly that happened. “A true king,” he says, “doesn’t kill his people just to make a point.”

This time, Sheidheda approaches him, and though he’s got a weapon and he towers over Murphy in height, it feels as though, in this moment, they are equals. “You know nothing of kings,” he says, his voice quieting as he closes the distance between them. “You’re so desperate to play the hero that you’ve let them all fool you into thinking you have any power here, but you, John Murphy, have never been anything but a pawn.”

Murphy flinches, ever so slightly, though he does his best to hide it. “Maybe,” he says, after a pause, “but at least I know my own limitations. I know how to tell if I’m winning, and I know how to pack it in if it’s obvious I’m losing. Can you say the same?”

Sheidheda growls, quietly, and then in seconds the point of the candlestick is pressing against Murphy’s throat and he thinks, oh, this is it. He’s gone too far this time, and he walked into a confrontation he knew he couldn’t win, and now he’s going to die and they won’t even be able to call him a martyr - he’ll only be a fool. 

Yet, the candlestick never tears into his throat, and he’s alive long enough to take another breath. “Remember this,” Sheidheda says, “You live only because I  _ let _ you live. You will watch as I take and destroy this city that you’ve tried to save - and when it is time for me to kill you, there will be nothing you can do to stop me.”

He pulls the candlestick back, harshly, and then he storms across the room and up the staircase to the door. Sheidheda pauses for only a second as he stands between the two kneeling guards, before he flips the candlestick around and plunges it down into the neck of the guard on his right. Murphy’s eyes widen as the guard chokes, for just a moment, before falling down the stairs, his body and blood joining the massacre all around them. 

“You,” Sheidheda snaps at the other guard who still lives, and still has his head bowed. “Take me to the rest of this so-called  _ Wonkru _ .” There’s no hesitation. The guard rises and turns, walking down the hall, Sheidheda close at his heels. Neither of them look back. 

Murphy stands alone in a room full of the murdered faithful. He’s a fool, he knows, for staying. 

* * *

It’s not hard, after that, to find what remains of his dwindling allies. Somehow, he makes it down to the lab in Sanctum’s tunnels without much problem. As he approaches the door, he hears whispered voices that suddenly go silent as his footsteps approach. 

“Don’t worry,” he says, turning the corner and walking into the lab. “It’s just me.”

Indra’s standing, her gun pointed at the door as a precaution. When she sees him, her eyes go wide and her surprise is evident for only a second before she composes herself and lowers the weapon. Jackson’s standing just behind her, leaning against a metal table, though his anxiety can be felt from across the room. At the other end of the room is Emori, who jumps up and rushes over to embrace him as soon as he enters. 

“We thought you were dead,” she whispers. “ _ I _ thought you were dead. What were you thinking? Challenging Sheidheda?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says as they break apart. “He didn’t kill me, but - he’s got Wonkru’s support.”

Indra nods, unfortunately not surprised. “This is what I feared,” she says. “They follow him out of fear, not respect - but they also believe he can bring them the power and salvation they have craved since the bunker.”

“The prisoners aren’t going to just accept this,” Jackson says. “I hate to suggest it, but maybe if we ally with them, we could-”

“No,” Indra cuts him off. “We are not going to win a traditional battle, not with him.”

“We aren’t going to win at all,” Emori says. “We should leave. Sheidheda can have Sanctum - it’s not our problem.”

Murphy looks at her, surprised. Just this morning, she’d been so set on making Sanctum a better place to live, that it seems odd for her to suddenly want to abandon it. Yet, as he thinks about it, he can’t blame her. She’s scared - he is, too. “There’s nowhere to go,” he says. 

“We could try and follow Clarke and everybody else,” Emori counters, “or we could take the ship and leave. We could move to the other side of the planet - it doesn’t matter, as long as we’re not here when Sheidheda comes to kill us!”

“We don’t know where Miller and the rest of them went,” Jackson says, his voice thick with clear concern for his boyfriend. “Maybe we should stay here, and wait for them to come back. They’ll know what to do.”

Murphy shakes his head, an image of Bellamy flashing through his mind before he shakes it off and does his best to mask his own concern. “No,” he says. “We told them we’d take care of things here. We can take care of it.”

“We can’t, and you know it,” Emori counters. “We tried - and we failed. It’s time to cut our losses and run.”

Years ago, he might have agreed with her - but he knows it’s all much bigger than him, now. He’s got responsibilities. Maybe it’s true that he didn’t ask for them, and he tried his best to avoid them, but it doesn’t matter, not anymore. Something inside of him can’t leave Sanctum and all its surviving people behind. After all - he’d promised them, he’d promised  _ Bellamy,  _ that he’d take care of it. “I can’t leave,” he finally says. “I won’t.”

There isn’t much to say, not after that. Though they all stay there through the night, just in case, Sheidheda doesn’t make his move and the city remains quiet. Murphy barely sleeps, though he manages to quiet his mind for an hour or two. 

In the morning, he awakens with a blink and looks around. Emori and Jackson are nowhere to be found. He doesn’t try to look for them. 

* * *

It’s been three days since Sheidheda’s initial move. In that time, he’d gathered Wonkru’s support, and killed those who objected. He’d also killed half the prisoners before promising to spare the lives of those that joined his following. Those that didn’t join him were also killed, their bodies spilling over the lawns of the city. The remaining citizens of Sanctum gave over control without a fight. Some of them even went so far as to believe the dark commander to be a god, sent to ravage their lives after they’d rebelled against the Primes. Sheidheda has no qualms with this narrative. 

It’s been three days since Emori and Jackson ran, and two days since Indra went missing. Murphy’s well and truly alone, but still - he stays. 

He’s got the beginnings of a plan worked out, and he’s been using his time to move towards accomplishing this, but with no allies and no safe places to turn to, it’s been slow going. Still, he thinks he’s got more time - he thinks he does, at least, until Sheidheda steps onto the palace balcony and calls to all the citizens below. 

Murphy hides at the back of the crowd and in the shadows the best he can as the people assemble, anxious to hear what their newfound ruler has to say. “People of Sanctum,” he calls, and though he is not using anything to amplify his voice, Sheidheda’s always been loud enough. “I come to you on this fine day with wonderful news.

“For too long, you have cowered in fear to false leaders, who have done you wrong to further their own agendas. I have freed you from this, first by killing Russell Prime, and now by liberating you from your old loyalties. But - now, I offer you something even grander. I offer you  _ revenge. _ ”

The crowd cheers. Murphy’s heart drops. It’s truly twisted, he thinks, that Sheidheda’s won this amount of blind support in a matter of days. It’s truly twisted that he didn’t see this coming. 

He blinks, then looks back up at the balcony. Suddenly, three people are pushed onto it, all of them with their hands bound and mouths gagged. Murphy can’t stop the small gasp that escapes his lips as he stares up at them, the air around him now much harder to breathe in. 

Nikki, Nelson, and Indra all try to escape their bindings, but none of them succeed. Sheidheda laughs as he watches them for a moment, but then he turns his attention back to the crowd much too soon. “These so-called  _ leaders _ led you astray,” he calls, “but tonight, we burn them. Join me at dusk as we set fire to the past and move forwards into a new age!”

All around him, the crowd cries out their support, but Murphy hears none of it. He only stares at Indra, watching as she’s pushed back inside the palace and out of sight, watching as yet another one of his friends is led to their doom. He’s so caught up in it that he barely hears Sheidheda call his own name. 

“And John Murphy,” he says, the balcony suddenly seeming ten times higher up than it was before, “I have let you remain free so that you can come and see your failures turn to ashes tonight. I hope you will join us and watch as I destroy all you have worked for, and all you care about. I hope you will join us, and then - I hope you will burn.”

Murphy slinks back into the shadows, hastily making his exit before anyone in the crowd he’d been standing close to realized who he was and he, too, would be taken away with his hands tied. He stumbles through the backwoods of the city, hands brushing past tree trunks as he walks and then runs, putting as much distance between himself and the palace as he can. 

He makes it a fair way before his foot catches on a thick root and he falls forwards, knees hitting the dirt, hard, and his hands only just catching himself before his face lands on the ground. Murphy knows he should get up. He should keep running, he should make it past Sanctum’s boundaries and never look back. Maybe he could try and track down Emori and Jackson, or - he could join the search for Bellamy, for the rest of his friends, and he could finally do something helpful for his friends. 

Once, a very long time ago, he’d strung Bellamy up in revenge for hanging him.  _ I know the king’s about to die,  _ he’d said,  _ so who’s really going to lead these people? Me, that’s who.  _ This memory replays over and over in his mind as he remains still, and he thinks even then, he was pretending. Sheidheda was right - he’s never been anything but a pawn, so desperate to prove himself to Bellamy and others that he’s loved, so desperate to be a hero, that he’d do anything - even pretend to be a king. 

Except - he isn’t pretending. He hasn’t been pretending, not for a very long time. He’s got a plan, even if it’s half-formed and most certainly doomed to fail. He’s got a plan, and he’s got the right intentions, and he’s - he’s more than who he used to be, that much is clear. 

Murphy allows himself a minute of weakness, where he stays on the forest floor and trembles. He allows a single tear to trace down his cheek as he curls his fingers into the dirt, steadying and grounding himself with each tight breath.  _ Ten, nine, eight,  _ he counts down quietly, and then as the minute passes, he stands up, turns around, and walks back in the direction of Sanctum. 

Already above him, the suns are getting ready to set. He doesn’t have much time - but that’s never stopped him before. 

* * *

It’s lucky, he thinks, that Sheidheda’s doing this in the dark. 

Three large stakes have been set up in front of the palace, each one full of wood and sticks ready to be burned. Nikki, Nelson, and Indra are already tied up to them. The gags have been taken off their mouths, no doubt so the people can hear their screams, and Sheidheda can enjoy them. 

Murphy slips around the back of the palace quietly. He’s wearing an old cloak with a hood pulled up over his head to hide his identity. For a moment, he stands still with his back against the palace wall, and he knows that this is his last chance to turn around. There’s still a chance, however small, that he can make it out of here with his life. 

Then he sees Indra, tied up on the stake, and he knows that whatever happens, he can’t leave before he’s done everything in his power to save her. 

He stays quiet, but he steps out from the shadows, doing his best to look like he belongs as he walks behind the three stakes and grabs a can of gasoline. There are a few other Sanctum citizens pouring the gas on the wood, and so Murphy joins them, paying careful mind as to where he pours it. 

Sheidheda walks by. Murphy keeps pretending he belongs there, and continues to pour gas on the wood, though he holds his breath until Sheidheda carries on his way. 

Satisfied he doesn’t have to worry about being caught for at least a few minutes more, Murphy slips back, no longer pouring the gasoline on the wood but instead on the ground, moving in a careful circle around the entire area as he does so. When he’s finished, and the can is almost empty, he pours it over his clothes, too - just in case. 

Carefully, Murphy moves to the back of the crowd, keeping his face covered with the cloak. Without the aid of the darkness, he knows he’d never have been able to make it this far. Maybe that’s part of Sheidheda’s plan. Maybe he wants to give him a fighting chance, just to make it more fun. 

Sheidheda himself stands at the stakes, waving off those preparing them. The crowd stands quite a ways away from the pyres. Perhaps they’re afraid of the fire that will light them, or they’re more afraid of Sheidheda than they’re saying - either way, Murphy’s glad that they aren’t staying closer. It makes his job easier. 

“Welcome,” Sheidheda calls, “to the beginning of a new age.”

Murphy rolls his eyes as the speech continues, gently putting his hand in his right pocket to check that what he’s brought is still there. There’s a knife in his belt, hidden from view, but he knows that can’t do enough - no, it all comes down to what he’s got in his pocket. Maybe it’s sad that it took him three days to track down the one singular item he’d needed for this plan, but he’d found it all the same. That has to count for something. 

“Don’t listen to him!” Nikki’s screaming from where she’s tied to the stake. Nelson, too, starts yelling for the crowd to have mercy, and that he’s sorry he failed them, but Indra remains silent. She knows, all too well, what he’s capable of. 

Sheidheda moves to the leftmost stake first, the one Nikki is tied to. If he moves down the row, Nelson will be next, and Indra will be last. For a moment, Murphy’s ashamed to admit he almost does nothing. It would save him a lot of heartache in the future, he thinks, if he let Nikki and Nelson burn here - but he can’t think like this, not anymore. It’s not about him, or what will be  _ easier.  _ It’s about doing what’s right for those he’s sworn to help and protect, and that’s all. 

A silence falls over the clearing. Sheidheda likes this, and stops to savour in it, for just a moment. It’s all Murphy needs. He takes a deep breath, and then, with all the power he has, he makes his move.  _ “Have we learned nothing?”  _ he cries, repeating the very phrase that had bought him time and power all that time ago. 

Sheidheda’s eyes widen, for only a second, but then he grins as he watches the crowd. There’s no turning back now, so Murphy moves forwards, carefully removing the hood as he steps into the space between the crowd and their leader. “John Murphy,” the dark commander says, dryly. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t show.”

Murphy has to refrain himself from looking at Indra, who’s staring at him with only fear. “I couldn’t turn down your invitation,” he says, dragging his feet against the ground. Sheidheda takes this as a motion of fear. It isn’t, but Murphy doesn’t tell him that. Instead, he focuses only on the gasoline on his shoes. 

“I suppose not,” he says, with a laugh. “But surely you know what you’ve just proved?”

“And what’s that?” Murphy asks. He’s not looking Sheidheda in the eye. No, he’s focused on where he’s standing, where the gasoline lies, and his grip on the object in his pocket. He’s keeping a careful eye on Indra, making sure that nobody in the crowd gets any ideas and tries to hurry this process along. He’s watching the crowd itself, too, making sure they all stay far enough away from them, just as he’d hoped they would. 

If Sheidheda notices his split attention, he says nothing about it. “Here you are, following my order,” he yells, raising his voice so everyone can hear properly. “Once again, it seems I am the king - the  _ victor  _ \- and you are nothing but a pawn.”

“Yeah, maybe I’m a pawn,” Murphy replies, sliding his feet forward still, “but at least I’m playing my own game, right?”

“Yet to be seen,” Sheidheda muses. “You know, I like you, Murphy. It’s why I saved your life - and then when you played the Queen’s Gambit in our little game, well, I knew why that was.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Even in the dark, his grin is terrifying. “You’re aggressive, capable, and far more intelligent than those around you take you for. You remind me of myself - of who I used to be.”

Murphy’s not expecting that, and he can’t hide the shock that passes his face. “Oh, you and I are nothing alike,” he says, and he desperately, desperately hopes that’s true. 

“Not now,” Sheidheda concedes. “You see,  _ I _ took charge of my own fate, and carved a piece of history for myself. Centuries from now, they will all remember my name, while you - you’ve always let others define you, haven’t you?”

“At least I don’t kill everybody who disagrees with me.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Sheidheda clicks his tongue, then waves his hand, obviously growing bored. This is fine - Murphy’s stalled long enough, he thinks. He’s well inside the circle of gasoline he’d made before, as is Sheidheda, and he thinks that if he were to strike now, it’d work. But then, the dark commander continues. “I’ll give you an offer, Murphy, and I’ll give it to you once. Join me as my second. I’ll show you all my life has to offer. I think you’ll truly excel.”

And though his hand is still in his pocket, Murphy’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Not much time left,” he says. “What will it be?”

Maybe, once upon a time, this would sway him. Maybe a much younger version of him could be convinced. But - he likes to think he’s wiser, now. He tried the vengeance route, once, and it got him absolutely nowhere. He wouldn’t have thought this would be an easy answer for him to come to, but in this moment, as the crowd waits with bated breath to see if they have yet another god to worship, it’s all clear. “No,” he says. 

And, for the first time, it seems he’s truly caught the dark commander off guard. “No?”

“No,” he repeats. “I mean, thanks, I suppose, but I’m good.”

“You’re... _ good _ ,” he says, and then he sighs, long and dramatically. “Very well, then. Such a shame to extinguish a talent such as yours. But, I suppose if you haven’t realized the power you hold yet, then you never will.”

“You don’t get it,” Murphy says, and he’s suddenly more confident than he’s ever been. “You’ve lost.”

They’re close, now - close enough that Murphy can see Sheidheda raise his brow, questioningly. “And how’s that?”

“You haven’t seen any of this coming,” he says. There’s a trail of gasoline behind him that Sheidheda doesn’t see or notice over the residual stench in the air from the pyres and stakes themselves. “You haven’t seen  _ me _ coming.” Behind him, Indra is quiet, but he hopes she’s smiling. He hopes he’s doing her proud. 

“In case you have forgotten,” Sheidheda says, lowering his voice as the two of them stand next to each other, facing off surrounded by darkness, “you are no longer Daniel. You have no hold on these people. What do you think is going to happen here?”

Murphy only smiles. “Well,” he says, feeling the years collapse in on themselves, “I know the king’s about to die.”

Sheidheda’s eyes are cold. “Is that so? Who’s really going to lead these people, then, hmm?”

“Me,” Murphy replies. “That’s who.” He hopes that, regardless of where he is, or whether he’s alive or dead - he hopes that Bellamy’s proud of him for coming so far.

He’s never been a warrior. He’s no scientist, or engineer, or diplomat. For most of his life, he’s never been that good of a friend or follower, either, but despite all of that, there’s always been one thing that Murphy’s been great at. 

Before Sheidheda can say anything, he grips the object in his pocket tightly and lifts it up, letting the dark commander look at it for only a second. Then, without another word, Murphy lights the match - and drops it. 

The effect is instantaneous. The gasoline lights up, the fire jumping into the air and crawling back down the path Murphy’s travelled, and soon, he and Sheidheda are trapped in a circle of fire, cut off from everybody else. However, there is still gasoline on his shoe, and his clothes, and his cloak, and as the flames light up the city around them, they crawl up Murphy himself until he, too, is on fire. 

His cloak is being burned through faster than he counted on, but there’s no time to focus on this. Sheidheda is stumbling backwards, shocked, but behind him is only a wall of more flame. There’s nowhere to go - and he knows it. Murphy laughs, a sound that echoes throughout the night, and then he  _ charges,  _ an image of a burning martyr carrying through the night. 

With a roar, he throws himself at Sheidheda, who is still stunned enough that he does nothing to fight him off. The two of them tumble to the ground, limbs flailing on both sides, the fire spreading across them both. Somehow, Murphy keeps his wits and he rolls until he’s above the dark commander, ripping the cloak off his own body and pushing it down on him to smother him with fire and smoke. The bare skin on his hands scream as he keeps a tight hold of the burning fabric but he keeps pushing down, with all his might, restraining Sheidheda though he, too, is burned. 

“You can’t kill me!” Sheidheda yells, even though the fire is catching and spreading on his skin. “I’ve faced  _ far _ worse!”

His hold is slipping. Murphy’s fading, fast, and he himself is still a victim to the flames. He doesn’t want to have to end it, not this way, but there’s no other option as he reaches a burning hand to his own belt and closes his grip on the hilt of his knife. The adrenaline coursing through his body is the only reason he doesn’t feel the pain. 

“It’s the Queen’s Gambit,” he says, though if Sheidheda hears him, he isn’t sure. With the last of his strength, he cries out and plunges the knife downwards, feeling it pierce the dark commander’s skin and enter his heart. 

The body beneath him falls limp, and Murphy lets go of the knife and rolls to the side, and then continues to roll until the flames dancing over his own body are extinguished. For a moment, he lays on his back, but then he gets to his knees to look up over the circle of fire that he’s still trapped in. 

The crowd is screaming, most of them running far, far away. Though she’s still tied to the stake, Indra is smiling. Murphy’s mind is hazy but he smiles, too, until the moment is shattered. 

“Murphy?” someone says, and he slowly turns his head, locking eyes with Clarke. She’s back, then, from wherever she was - Raven’s close behind her, as is the rest of the group she left with, and if he looks hard enough through the darkness, he thinks he sees Emori and Jackson with them, as well. 

Bellamy is nowhere to be found, though he does see Echo and Octavia - meaning only one thing. His throat feels thick, both from the smoke, the ash, and the implication of what’s in front of him.  _ I’m sorry,  _ he thinks, hoping that Bellamy knows that truth, though he isn’t sure what exactly he’s sorry for. 

He swallows, twice, before he manages to speak, locking eyes with Clarke. “I told you I’d take care of it,” he says, and then the world tilts, he falls sideways, and he’s nothing more than a false king left to burn in the ashes of his own creation. 

* * *

_ “I know the king’s about to die,” he says to Bellamy, in his dreams. “So who’s really going to lead these people? Me, that’s who.” _

_ There’s a red rope around his neck, but Bellamy smiles, and Murphy feels at home. “I think you’ll be a great leader,” he says. “I really do.” _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Yeah,” he says, and for one beautiful, tragic moment, Murphy can pretend that he’s still alive to actually say those words, but all dreams must end.  _

* * *

He sleeps for three days straight before finally coming to, finding himself back in the infirmary in the tunnels underneath Sanctum. There are bandages around both his hands, his neck, and in patches all over his body. Everything, absolutely  _ everything,  _ aches. 

Still, it’s not long before he’s joined with his friends. “Hey,” Clarke says, a heavy melancholy in her eyes though she’s obviously trying to appear kind. “You scared us for a moment, there.”

Murphy doesn’t say anything more than a simple nod, though he isn’t sure if the words aren’t coming because of the ash in his throat, the newfound burn scars or the knowledge that Bellamy’s not with them. 

Clarke sighs, continuing on, telling him about the anomaly and where they went. Honestly, Murphy only registers about half of it - they were on another planet, they ended a war, and then they came back. Bellamy didn’t make it. There isn’t much more to know. 

As time goes by, more of his friends enter and attempt to make small talk, all of them avoiding the truth of what’s happened. He can’t focus completely on anything that they’re saying, though, as self-centered as that is. After everything, he’s earned the right to be a little bit selfish. Emori, even, does her best, though it’s clear to the both of them that things have irreversibly changed. Maybe she feels guilty for what she did - maybe she doesn’t. Either way, Murphy doesn’t necessarily blame her, though he can’t forget it. 

It’s not until Indra comes in that he manages to give his full attention. “That was foolish,” is the first thing she says, and it’s the first thing that gets Murphy to crack a smile. 

“Indra-” Jackson says, but she holds up a hand, silencing him. 

“But,” she continues, “it was also brave. I have you to thank for my life.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his voice so hoarse and raw that it grates his ears to hear it, but he hopes the sentiment gets across. 

Indra’s eyes are warm, but the look on her face suggests there is more business to attend to. “However,” she says, “whether you wanted it or not, you are the commander now.”

Everyone in the room falls silent. “What?” Murphy whispers, his voice barely audible. 

“You killed the last commander,” she says, “and by that right, Wonkru -  _ and _ Sanctum - regard you as the new leader. They are calling you the Fire Commander.” 

“Fayaheda,” Gaia says softly, and she smiles. 

Murphy shakes his head, trying his best to get his feelings across. “I didn’t-”

“I’m sorry,” Indra says, “but it does not matter. They will answer to no one else. But you have proven yourself more than capable - I can’t say I disagree with their choice.”

He hesitates, thinking over the implications of this. No, it’s true he didn’t ask or expect to be named the next commander, but he  _ did _ say to Sheidheda that he’d be the one leading. Murphy supposes, deep down, he had meant that, and maybe - maybe it’s possible.

With only a brief pause, he nods. 

He’s exhausted and he still hurts, but they help him stand and slowly make it out of the room. It takes an embarrassingly long time to make it to the palace, but they make it nonetheless, and he stands on the balcony overlooking the city that he thinks, one day, he’d like to call home. 

“You got this,” Clarke says, giving him the most encouraging smile she’s capable of. 

“Are you sure this shouldn’t be you?” he asks. 

Her eyes soften. “Yes,” she says. “These people chose you, Murphy. They believe in you. I mean - you took down Sheidheda single-handedly. If there’s anyone that can do this, it’s you.”

He nods, and then steps to the edge of the balcony, watching as those below him turn their attention up to him and stop what they’re doing to wait for him to speak. For a moment, Murphy desperately wishes Bellamy were standing next to him, but it’s because of Bellamy, and others he has loved, that he’s able to stay standing by himself. 

“People of Sanctum,” he says, using the microphone that Russell Prime himself had once used, “I hope you are well.”

The instant he speaks, the Wonkru warriors below him drop into a kneel, bowing low and deep out of nothing but respect. He continues to speak, but as he sees this and the faint smiles on the citizens’ faces, he thinks that Sanctum might just be okay after all. 

Somehow, somewhere, he knows that Bellamy would be proud. 

**Author's Note:**

> part of me feels this is out of character for murphy, but the other part of me is convinced this is very in character for murphy. so i'm not sure. but it's fic universe, so i guess that doesn't matter. 
> 
> regardless, i hope you liked it! shameless self-promo time, but if you liked my writing style, i just recently finished a 108k murphy-centric fic called "toward eternity" so that is out there if you are interested! i am also, as always, on twitter @reidsnora. thank you kindly for reading and i hope you enjoyed!


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